


Sick Day

by martiansonmars



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: F/M, Playing Doctor, sick day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 10:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martiansonmars/pseuds/martiansonmars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick P. Wilde did not take not take days off, even when he should have. The last thing he thought about was chipping away at his sick days...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

Nick P. Wilde did not take days off. Since the age of twelve years old he had been fighting to not be left behind, whether that meant selling pawpsicles with Finnick or graduating from the police academy. True, he had gotten much more ambitious since a certain meter maid forced herself into his life, but slacking never suited him to begin with.

Months had passed since graduation and he kept his diploma in a folder by his bedside. After much deliberation by Judy he cracked and bought a frame. It was the last thing he saw every day before he left for work at the ZPD. 

Today he took his time getting ready. A bowl of oatmeal was left untouched on the kitchenette, save for a couple blueberries he’d used to sweeten it. Outside the rain pelted hard against the windows, just like the weather duo said it would. Leave it to cats and dogs to know about the rain. He walked outside of the small bathroom and stopped in front of the window, watching the rain fall.

Even without touching the window he knew it was cold outside. Usually by this time the sun would be high over Zootopia, like a big golden smile. If he squinted against the rain he could see the people on the sidewalk struggling with their umbrellas. His ears flattened against his head. He didn’t want to set one paw outside.

It didn’t help that he was feeling funny. Usually he could have wolfed down an entire basket of blueberries, but the thought of eating anything seemed out of the question. His throat was too tight. His nostrils flared with hot air, and he stubbornly dragged a hand across his muzzle. 

Nick P. Wilde did not get sick. He simply didn’t have the time for it. Even with a steady paycheck and benefits (dental!), taking off a sick day never passed his mind. He didn’t like down time – he got anxious from the spaces in between doing things. Besides, Judy would worry…

Shrugging his coat over his shoulders and putting on his hat, he walked out the door. He had a coupon in his pocket for the new pizza place down town, and he knew just who to ask to partake with him.

If only the landlady hadn’t caught him first.

“Senhora Tartaruga!” he gasped, arms flailing as he was thrust back into his apartment. The old tortoise woman clicked her tongue as she walked through the door, stooping down to pick him off the floor.

“This place is filthy!” she clucked. A finger swab across the makeshift entertainment center produced a line of dust. At least he had the decency to bow his head and look slightly embarrassed.

He coughed. “Senhora Tartaruga,” he tried again. “I’m going to be late for work.”

“I’ll say,” she agreed, nodding her head. “Especially considering you won’t be going in at all! Not while I have anything to say about it! You look like death!” 

“I’m a big boy –“ 

“You aren’t eating properly! You’re wasting away! It’s not enough that I let you live in the apartment above mine, now I have to cook for you?”

Siiiiiigh.

“Senhora Tartaruga –“

“You’re not walking anywhere in this weather.”

“Finnick can pick me up –“

“He won’t.” She crinkled her beak. Obviously she still wasn’t over him moving out of the apartment and moving in with his old lady. “I knew this apartment was too big for one person. There’s no one to take care of you.”

“I’m fine.” And there were two of her now. Two wrinkly, worried old grandmas with snapping jaws. “I just need…” He leaned against the wall. Counted his breath. “I just need to call out.” 

“Good! I’ll make caldo verde!” The door slammed firmly behind her.

He stood blinking back the stars in his eyes, ears twitching with the soft clicking of the clock on the wall. Finally he pushed himself off, fishing a hand in his pocket until he produced his cellphone. So much for the pizza place down town.

The receptionist picked up on the third ring. “Zootopia Police Department, how can I help you?”

“Clawhauser –“

“Nick? Nick! Hey, how are you? Oh boy, are you on your way? Everyone’s already had their pick of the donut box and there’s only a glazed left and it’s calling to me –“ 

“It’s okay, buddy. You can have it.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, really. I’m not coming in.”

“O…m… goodness! How come?”

“Landlady’s keeping me hostage. Making me soup. Seems to be under the impression that I’m sick.”

“You do sound kind of gross –“

“Thanks. I’ve been better.”

“But OMG! I’ll let the chief know that you won’t be coming in. Feel better, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” He cradled the phone against his cheek, eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Oh, one more thing. Clawhauser?”

“Yes, Nick?”

“Don’t tell Judy I’m sick.” 

He hung up after that, crossing his fingers that the chubby jaguar could get just one thing right. The last thing he needed was Judy coming over and playing doctor. She’d never seen his apartment, and in turn he had never seen hers. There were some boundaries you didn’t cross, and he was more comfortable with meeting up in town than under the prying eyes of Senhora Tartaruga.

Speaking of which… 

He had no idea how long it took to make caldo verde. The only soup he ate came straight out of a can. 

Dropping his phone on the entertainment center, he did away with his damp coat and hat. He really did feel crappy. Even after grooming himself his fur was still matted. Now that he didn’t have work to worry about, maybe he could indulge in a bath. 

He already had his shirt over his head, dropping in carelessly on the floor as he made way for the bathroom. Bath… shower… any kind of hot water would do. Standing outside the narrow shower stall, he turned the faucet all the way to the right, waiting until steam started spilling out. As he submerged himself under the hot waterfall, his body sighed with relief. 

Might as well make the best of his sick day.


End file.
